


Old Habits Die With Us

by Batshit_Bogs



Series: Through the Mirror [8]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Blood and Injury, Damian Wayne is a good older brother, Damian Wayne is a stubborn ass, Damian Wayne-centric, Damian cares aggressively about everyone but himself, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry i can barely write fluff, Jason is new to the vigilante scene, Jon and Maps make a cameo over text, Near Death Experiences, Reverse Robins, The bats are super protective of their eldest sibling, no beta we die like robins, this au owns my soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batshit_Bogs/pseuds/Batshit_Bogs
Summary: Sometimes Damian really fucking hates Gotham.Case in point - one of the main rogues is a giant humanoid crocodilian with razor sharp claws that slice through kevlar like a hot knife through butter.How does he know that they slice through kevlar so easily?The giant gash in his side.-Damian likes to think he's grown enough to admit when he's been injured. He still slips up from time to time, and everyone suffers for it
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Cassandra Cain & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Harper Row
Series: Through the Mirror [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937332
Comments: 32
Kudos: 277





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This au completely owns my ass. I have a lot timeline & event -wise planned, but idk how much is going to be written. I only rewrote this once and didn't have anyone beta it, so it may be a little rough around the edges but y'know. Whatever lmao this is for fun
> 
> Damian is 22, Duke is 20, Cass is 18, Harper is 16, Jason is 12
> 
> The second chapter is already done, I'll post it tomorrow

Sometimes Damian really fucking hates Gotham.

Case in point - one of the main rogues is a giant humanoid crocodilian with razor sharp claws that slice through kevlar like a hot knife through butter.

How does he know that they slice through kevlar so easily?

The giant gash in his side.

It burns like hell, and it’s bleeding sluggishly, but there’s not much Damian can do about it right now. They’re still in the heat of battle, and he’s needed. Right now he’s giving his family the best chance at survival by finishing the battle quickly without expending fighters to keep him from bleeding out. They’ll bring Killer Croc down, _then_ take care of his wound.

At least all of the civilians in the area have been evacuated, Damian thinks as Croc swings a car into a building. The first twenty minutes of the battle were spent getting them out of harm's way. Now that the area is clear they can work on taking Croc down without worrying about innocents getting hurt.

“Wren, keep him distracted but stationary as best you can,” Damian orders as he dodges another swipe of Croc’s claws. One injury is enough, thank you.

“Gotcha,” Jason chirps as he swings up to land a solid kick to Croc’s jaw. “Hey, ya big ugly bastard! It’s time for me to kick your ass - or is that your face?”

Croc roars loud enough to rattle the nearest buildings’ windows and takes the bait, his attention zeroing in on Jason. Damian’s heart skips a beat when Jason just barely avoids a vicious snap of Croc’s jaws.

Damian fires off the next order - “Bluebird, Black Bat, prep the trip!”

“On it,” Harper says, whisking past him. She and Cassandra start on setting up the tripwire that will bring Croc down further up the street. As they do their thing, Damian helps relieve some of the attention on Jason by going for Croc’s legs.

After this Damian is going to have his father run tests on Gotham’s sewer water - Croc was not this big last time he fought the bats, Damian is pretty sure. It’s been a few months since he’s been in the city, so there’s a chance he’s the only one surprised by Croc’s upgrade. Then again, Father would have told him before sending them after the rogue. Still, he’s already wondering if perhaps Ivy is testing new drugs either on the water or Croc himself. The change is too unsettling to be normal.

Damian leaps over Croc’s tail as it swipes along the ground and stumbles when he lands. His head is starting to feel light and his breathing is unnecessarily labored - they have to finish this fast. For now, though, Damian swiftly digs a few large adhesive bandages out of his belt and slaps them over the gash. It’s a temporary salve, but at least it’s _something_.

His siblings are going to rip him apart for hiding this.

Jason kicks the back of Croc’s head, sending him snout-first into a building. Croc screeches and shakes his head, stunned. Jason takes the lapse in action to swing down next to Damian.

“Is it just me,” he pants, “or is Croc way beefier than before?”

“That’s what I’m concerned about.” Not for the first time Damian thanks his extensive training and experience for allowing him to keep any trace of injury from his voice and posture. He shifts his cape to cover the white bandages better as he says, “So none of you have seen a change in him before tonight?”

“Nope. We haven’t seen him in ages - it’s weird he appears now like this at the same time that Scarecrow broke out. Think there’s a connection?”

“Scarecrow is unlikely to be affiliated with this change. His drugs rarely have effects such as this, and he usually tests his new concoctions on civilians.”

“Hm.” Jason rolls his shoulders and takes a smoke bomb out of his belt as Croc seems to be regaining clarity. He side-eyes Damian and asks, “You good, Nightwing?”

Damian grunts as an answer and takes a running leap to vault onto Croc’s back. As he struggles to climb onto the beast’s shoulders Jason chucks the smoke bomb directly into Croc’s face. It explodes and Croc hunches over, scratching at his face and screeching. Damian takes the opening to wrap his legs around Croc’s scaly neck, whip a garotte wire out of his belt, and hook it over his snout. When Damian pulls Croc utters a strangled roar and stumbles back. Catching on, Jason focuses on keeping Croc’s arms busy to prevent him from tearing Damian off of his shoulders.

“Nightwing!” Harper shouts from below. Damian cranes his neck to see her and Cassandra sprint away from where they’ve surely set the wire.

Perfect timing, as usual.

Damian yells with the effort it takes to make Croc back up towards the tripwire. His arms scream in protest, but Damian just wraps the wire tighter around his hands and pulls harder. Finally the back of Croc’s legs hit the wire. He stumbles back one step, two, and Damian’s stomach swoops as Croc starts to fall. Croc roars and flails his arms as he falls, his claws catching on the nearest building and tearing off chunks of concrete.

“Nightwing, get out of there!” Jason cries from somewhere (hopefully) out of harm’s way.

Damian is _trying_. Jumping off of a falling eleven foot tall (rough estimate) humanoid crocodile is far more difficult than it sounds, especially since there’s falling debris to dodge as well. Damian lets go of the garotte wire, scrambles over Croc’s shoulder, and kicks off his chest to leap to the side. He rolls seamlessly out of the fall but goes down anyway when Croc’s impact with the ground knocks him off balance.

Groaning, Damian picks himself up. Someone slams him hard enough to send him flying back - just in time as a large chunk of concrete smashes into the ground where he was standing. All of the air in his lungs leaves him in a whoosh as he hits the sidewalk on his back, Cassandra landing heavily on top of him.

“Croc’s out cold,” Jason calls from somewhere to the left. “Is Nightwing okay?”

Cassandra sits up and tilts her head down at Damian. He nods, still trying to regain his breath, and she raises her arm to give their siblings a thumbs up. She pats his chest before getting off of him, then helps him up. 

“That was harder than it should’ve been,” Harper grumbles as she and Jason pick their way over through the rubble.

“Did you secure Croc?” Damian asks.

“Yep, and pumped him with enough tranq to knock out a zoo.”

“Good. Injuries?”

“Nothin’ beyond a few - “ Jason cuts himself off with a gasp. “Black Bat, you’re hurt!”

And there goes Damian’s temporary calm. He tenses as Cassandra wipes her palm along her stomach. It comes away red.

“Not me,” she says slowly, pivoting to look at Damian. “Nightwing.”

Oh, right. With the adrenaline spike that comes with a battle’s final moments Damian completely forgot. Cassandra reaches out and brushes his cape to the side, revealing his wound. The bandages are so soaked with blood that the adhesive is failing, and the black kevlar glistens in the street light.

“Shit,” Harper breathes as Jason says, “Oh my fucking god.”

Right on cue, Damian’s head swims and the ground seems to sway under his feet. He blinks and he’s on the ground, both Harper and Cassandra applying pressure to the gash as Jason speaks rapid fire into the comms, voice high with worry.

“-idiot!” Harper is snapping at him, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“We had to finish the fight,” Damian groans, struggling to speak. The effects of bleeding out are hitting him hard all of the sudden. He blames it on the post-adrenaline low.

“If you survive this, we’re taking turns killing you.”

“When,” Cassandra says with quiet intensity.

Harper presses her lips into a firm line. “Right. When he survives. _Then_ he’s done for.”

“B is on the way with the mobile,” Jason says as he kneels. His hands hover over Damian for a moment before they lower to ball into fists on his thighs. “How we lookin’?”

Harper shifts her weight - Damian hisses as the deep pain it causes. “You deserved that,” she says before addressing Jason, “Gotta be honest, it’s not looking too good.”

“He’s gonna be okay though, right? I mean, he’s _Nightwing_.”

Damian flops a hand in a weak attempt of a dismissive wave. “I’ve had - _ugh_ \- worse.”

All of them tense as sirens permeate the quiet of the empty street. The police must be closing in, along with a transport truck for Croc - Damian wonders if it will be big enough.

“Damn it, where’s Batman?” Harper hisses, glancing over her shoulder. Usually they’d be long gone by now, since a lot of cops want them arrested or dead. The alliance between vigilantes and the GCPD is tentative at best, and nonexistent at worst. The bats work hard to avoid them, but now...a meeting is inevitable. Damian just wishes it didn’t have to be while he’s incapacitated.

Someone slaps him (hard) and Damian’s eyes snap back open. He doesn’t remember closing them. That is extremely not good.

“Stay awake,” Cassandra says.

“M’ up,” he mumbles.

There’s a commotion off to the left. Damian lets his head loll to the side to see that the GCPD have already arrived. A large group of Arkham staff are struggling to drag Croc onto a flatbed wheeler. The cops are grouped up and staring at Damian and his siblings. Harper is talking to Gordon halfway between them and the cops, gesticulating wildly. Streetlight catches on the crimson bathing her hands.

Jason has replaced her in staunching Damian’s wound - he looks unusually pale, and Damian is fairly certain he’s shaking. Is he alright? Hopefully he isn’t hiding a wound.

Damian is...so tired. _Exhausted_ , actually. And it’s getting harder to breathe, which is definitely a terrible sign. Actually, he can’t feel much of anything, either, and it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open.

He tries to ask if Batman has arrived yet, but all he can manage is a mumbled, “Father…?”

“B’s almost here,” Jason says in a trembling voice. “Just hang on, Dami.”

“N’mes.”

“God, shut _up_ \- “ Jason breaks off into a short string of mumbled Spanish that sounds like insults. He scrubs the back of his arm across his nose with a sniff. It leaves blood streaked across his cheek. “I’m never forgiving you for this.”

Damian wants to say sorry, but he can’t utter anything beyond a soft wheeze. Darkness is encroaching on his vision, not that it matters - he can’t keep his eyes open anyway. He thinks he hears the roar of the mobile, but that could just be his heart pounding in his ears.

“Hey, no no,” comes Harper’s voice along with the crunch of her shoes on gravel. A gloved hand pats his cheek. “Stay with us, Nightwing, come on, you’re stronger than this.”

Probably, but Damian really wants to rest. It’s been a taxing night. The roar builds before stopping with a screech, and mere seconds later comes the deep gravel of Batman’s voice.

_Baba_ , Damian thinks. He tries to say it, but yet again all that comes out is a wheeze. He can’t focus on what’s being said, nor his own thoughts - both slip his gasp like desert sand. All Damian knows is that his father is here. Surely everything must be alright.

The stability of the ground is replaced by familiar arms sliding under his shoulders and knees. Reality sways as he’s lifted, and next thing he knows he’s is laying down again on what feels like the mobile seats. The hum of the engine joins voices too loud for the enclosed space.

“Leslie - “ someone is saying.

“Still alive,” says another.

Consciousness slips away before Damian can hear any more.

**⤘⤘⤘ -**

Reality swims in and out of Damian’s grasp.

The brief moments of semi-consciousness are spent in a haze of confusion and discomfort. It feels like he’s burning up and freezing at the same time. Every breath scrapes through his lungs like the air is made of glass, and even in his mostly unconscious state he can tell that he’s shivering uncontrollably.

Shadows and shapes move through his blurry vision. Some of them make soft, worried noises. Others just stand.

Everything is confusing - Damian can’t form a single coherent thought, much less understand what’s happening.

It feels like he’s dying.

Is he dying?

**⤘⤘⤘ -**

Someone is petting his hair back. Their skin is cold against his forehead, and Damian leans into the comforting touch.

They’re talking to him. He can’t make out the words.

Maybe he hears the word ‘son’, but he’s back under before he can discern any more.

**⤘⤘⤘ -**

Damian can’t feel much of anything. Each inhale rattles in his chest and each exhale is a hoarse wheeze.

There are more shapes standing around him than before. Is...is someone crying? It sounds distant, but someone is certainly in distress. Damian tries to reach for the soft sniffles, but his fingers barely twitch.

He can’t tell if he’s laying down or floating.

It doesn’t matter - the dark claims him again anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's ch. 2, a day later as promised. I think this is the first time i've ever posted something when i said I would. Yay accomplishment!
> 
> This has an attempt at fluff and some humor, which isn't my strong suit tbh. I'm much better at angst and hurt/comfort.
> 
> Enjoy! And again, comments are greatly appreciated

Consciousness comes back slowly. With it is what feels like a blanket over Damian’s mind, pleasantly buzzing his thoughts and making him feel absolutely fine. Better than fine, actually. For once, Damian feels completely at ease.

_Beep - Beep - Beep -_

He scrunches his nose and shifts, trying his best to stay in that nice area of almost-sleep.

_Beep - Beep - Beep -_

Whatever is beeping incessantly is annoying as hell. Doesn’t it know that it’s interrupting the Batman's son's sleep? Completely inconsiderate.

_Beep - Beep - Beep -_

Damian peels his eyes open, already glaring and ready to punch whatever woke him up. A (mostly) white ceiling swims into view, though it looks more gray in the low light. He groans softly and lifts his arm to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, a scratchy blanket sliding against his arm as he does so. He drops his hand to his chest and tilts his head as he looks for the source of the infernal beeping.

It’s coming from a slew of monitors and IV bags, the latter of which have lines connecting to a needle stuck in the crook of his elbow. Huh. No wonder his mind feels fuzzy - he must be on all sorts of meds. The thought makes him snort. He’s high as fuck, isn’t he? High as a _kite_.

Loopy as he is, he can tell that he’s in a private room in Thompkins’ clinic. He must’ve been hit _bad_ if he was brought here instead of the cave.

Time passes, not that Damian is paying attention. He’s busy trying to hold a coherent thought for more then five seconds as he adjusts to being awake for the first time in...a while, probably. A few days at most.

Squeaking hinges are the only thing that draws his attention to the door being opened. Distantly he knows that he should be alert and assessing who’s coming in, but right now all he can do is passively glance over with all the interest of a bored two year old.

Thompkins steps into the room, carrying a clipboard. She flicks on the lights (Damian flinches violently and squints against the sudden glare), makes a beeline for the monitors and starts checking them, every so often scribbling something down and muttering under her breath.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she says a few minutes later. Her eyes flick over to briefly meet Damian’s hazy gaze.

Damian blinks sluggishly. His conversational skills are on _point_.

“How do you feel?” Thompkins sets the clipboard on the bedside table before peeling the blankets back to gently prod his side.

Damian grunts and half-heartedly tries to push her hands away. Whatever she’s doing, it makes a little bit of pain bleed through the cotton stuffed in his brain.

“Stop that.” She smacks his hand and he retracts it, scowling. Rude.

“Wh’” he tries to say, but his voice gives out. He frowns and licks his lips - his mouth is uncomfortably dry, like he hasn't had a drink in days.

“You’re in the clinic. I’m doing a routine clean of your stitches - it was a nasty wound, by the way. The fever the infection gave you nearly did you in.” Thompkins huffs and tosses something on a tray behind her. “Which would have been disappointing, given how difficult it was to save your life.”

Damian huffs a short, “Tt.” He didn’t need saving. He’s Nightwing. At this point he’s fairly certain it’s impossible for him to die.

Thompkins rolls her eyes. “Oh, no don’t thank me. It was my pleasure, really. I love spending my weekends scrubbing blood off of my floor and making sure idiot vigilantes don’t die in their sleep.”

She flips the blanket back over him and crosses her arms, fixing him with a stern glare. She kind of looks like an angry hedgehog. The thought makes Damian giggle.

“You have no right to be laughing,” Thompkins says sternly.

And she has the right to scold Damian when he’s hopped up on whatever she’s given him? He can barely even understand what she's saying.

“The stunt you pulled nearly cost you your life. It’s a miracle you survived at all.”

Miracles are what Damian _does_. He can do the impossible, like surviving fatal wounds, taking down metas with a paperclip, and correctly plugging a USB into a computer on the first try. Still, he makes an effort to school his expression into a more somber one.

Thompkins sighs and goes about adjusting the monitors and drips as she speaks. “You coded three times, Damian. I would have called it the second time it happened, but...I couldn’t do that to your father. Not so soon after…” She clears her throat. “Well. You owe your family an apology.”

It sounds like he does. Damian frowns and twists his hands in the blanket. It’s not often that he comes _that_ close to dying, and to hear that his heart stopped _three times_...it truly is a miracle that he’s alive. Of course, his concern only lasts for a couple of seconds before he’s distracted by Thompkins taking the needle out of his arm and completely loses his train of thought.

“Your siblings won’t be by for a few hours yet,” she tells him as she starts turning off monitors and takes sensors off of him. The beeping stops at last.

His siblings? Why won’t they come by? Are they hurt? Damian scowls and tries to push himself up on his elbows - he wants to see them _now_.

“No,” Thompkins snaps, pushing him back down. “I am not letting you risk tearing your stitches.”

“Wh’ ‘re they?” Damian rasps.

“They’re all out on patrol, handling a Riddler situation.”

They’re _what?_ It’s bad if they’re all out there, assuming she's including Duke, the one daytime hero of the city. He only goes out at night if it's an all hands on deck situation, and those are never good news. Damian starts trying to sit up again.

“Damian Wayne! For the last time, stay down!” Thompkins tries to push him back down but this time he holds his ground, even as his arms shake and his side burns. He will not just sit here and let his family go up against a red-level rogue alone, injury be damned. Especially with Jason, the greenest of the bunch. He’s only been clear for patrol for a little over a year now, and he hasn’t had to face many rogues head-on.

“If you leave this bed, you become a liability,” Thompkins says in a firm tone. “You’re no use to them right now, and if you tear your stitches trying to get to them then I might just let you bleed out. And that would _severely_ impact your family’s ability to fight, wouldn't it?”

Damian stares her down. She’s...right. Damn it, he _hates_ it when other people make sense. If he tries to go out in his compromised state (both high and injured, always a great combo) then he’ll most likely get one or more of them killed. He scoffs, but relaxes into the bed. The rush of relief it brings him is irritating, but the irritation doesn’t last long as he sinks into the pillows.

The sheets are garbage. He’ll have to tell Father to donate better bedding to the clinic.

“Thank you,” Thompkins says. She rolls her eyes and turns away, muttering, “I swear, you’re just as bad as your father.”

Excuse her, he’s _nothing_ like his father, and franky he’s offended that she’d even allude to such a thing. Damian blinks at the empty room. Where _are_ his father and siblings? Usually when he’s injured they hover like a flock of overbearing mother-hens. Eh, they’re probably out on patrol. He has a feeling he’s already been told where they are and that he should be worried, but the feeling fades quickly.

The blanket is _really_ scratchy.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” Thompkins says as she wheels the monitors back to their closet. “Sleep off the rest of the morphine and you’ll be fully functioning in a few hours. And don’t even think about leaving.”

With that she turns the lights back off and leaves the room. Damian sticks his tongue out at the closed door. She can’t tell him what to do - he sleeps when he wants to, and not a second before. He pointedly crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling for approximately three minutes.

Okay. _Now_ he’ll take a nap. Because he wants to, not because she told him to.

Damian closes his eyes and passes out immediately.

**⤘⤘⤘ -**

When Damian breaches back into full consciousness, his mind is crystal clear. He scowls at the ceiling, going over the conversation he had while in a drugged state. He can never grasp memories for long when he’s high on pain medication, but for some reason he always recalls everything with perfect clarity once the drugs leave his system. Damian absolutely loathes being high. And drunk. Pretty much anything that compromises his ability to think and move.

So, he almost died, which is no surprise. His family is out handling the Riddler. Logically, Damian knows he has nothing to worry about - they’re perfectly capable of handling Nygma without him.

Wait. Are they still out? For all he knows he slept through another day and they're all safe at the manor.

Damian slowly sits up and leans back against the wall the bed is shoved up against, wincing at the dull pain tugging at his side. He briefly lifts the blanket to see a large patch of bandages over where the gash was. It’ll scar for sure - yet another addition to the ever growing collection.

On the bedside table is a glass of water, a bowl of soup, and a phone. Damian sips at the water gratefully, relishing in how the cool liquid soothes his parched throat. Once the glass is drained he clears his throat. It doesn’t feel scratchy anymore, which is good. He should be able to talk if needed.

Damian picks up the phone and frowns, displeased. It’s his civilian phone, which means it isn’t directly wired into the cave’s system or the comms. He contents himself with scrolling through recent news articles - they prove that Damian has _not_ slept through another day, and in fact was only out for a couple hours.

The RogueWatch website has live updates on the fight with Riddler. It shows that the battle is ongoing, and doesn't show signs of letting up. Riddler has hostages in East End, and has multiple civilians caught in two traps around where he’s set up base. He's being unusually flashy, if the bright green spotlights shown in the pictures are any indication. Nygma must be in a mood, or drunk, or both.

The complementary website, BatWatch, shows that six vigilante have been seen in two of the three locations, and all are still fighting.

Damian breathes a little easier. Everyone seems to be okay, from what he can tell, though the fact that Duke is out during the night is concerning. He must be taking Damian’s place during night patrols - hopefully he isn’t pulling double shifts. He needs his energy for night classes.

Still, it’s better to be directly linked in rather than rely on lagging news reports on what glimpses they catch of Gotham’s bats. Damian sends Cullen a text on the off chance that he has his civilian phone nearby. No doubt Oracle is hard at work keeping the family connected and working smoothly.

Periodically refreshing the tabs open on both websites, Damian entertains himself with going through other news articles from the past few days as he eats the soup Thompkins left for him. It's lukewarm alphabet soup - subpar, but acceptable, if a touch childish.

There are quite a few articles on the battle with Croc, most of which contain shaky videos and photos civilians submitted. Damian doesn’t bother watching the videos - he was there after all, though there is a relatively entertaining picture of him bleeding out on the ground. It’s taken from the roof of a building, and though it’s incredibly blurry he can make out Harper. It looks like she’s yelling at the cops blatantly staring.

The title of the article it belongs to reads **Nightwing of Bludhaven: injured or dead? Fight with Killer Croc takes a devastating turn**

Damian rolls his eyes and goes back to refreshing the RogueWatch tab. A video pops up on the feed - the first of the night. He eagerly opens it and watches with bated breath.

As usual, the quality is horrendous, but it shows three of his siblings fighting side-by-side as they seamlessly take down a gang of question mark themed thugs. Pride blooms in Damian’s chest as Jason perfectly executes a move Damian taught him during their last training session. Right after that Duke and Cassandra perform their signature combo to take down the remaining five thugs, which is as impressive as ever.

It eases some of the anxiety coiled tight in Damian’s gut. Of course they’re doing fine. Based on the team-up his family has split into two groups - perhaps three, since the situation is going down in three locations. Jason was likely placed with Duke and Cassandra to make sure he doesn’t get overwhelmed while Stephanie and Harper handle the second location as more experienced vigilantes. Father likely is going after Nygma by himself.

That thought makes Damian scowl again. He tuts softly. There’s no reason to worry - Father is more than capable of handling himself. Plus, Nygma's behavior points towards him being out for attention, not blood, so Damian shoves the concern down and moves on.

A few boring hours pass. No new news beyond a few distant pictures of a cape or blurry figure in motion pop up. Damian takes another short nap (only fifteen minutes or so), then decides he should update his team on his situation. No doubt they’ve been informed of his close brush with death.

He sends a selfie with the caption ‘I lived, bitch’ to the Titans group chat. Almost immediately he gets an overenthusiastic reply from Jon, complete with a short video of the lovable idiot cheering. Damian has to stop him in his tracks when Jon says he’s coming over, and it takes ten minutes to convince him to stay out of Gotham.

**J**

_Okay but are you s u r e ?_

**Sent**

_Jon, for the last time. Stay. Out. Of. Gotham._

**Maps**

_yeah its INSANE over here, you really dont want to visit right now_

_also YAY DAMIAN ISN’T DEAD!!!!_

____**J** ____

🎉🎉🎉🎉

**Sent**

_Yes yes, I’m alive, huzzah._

_  
_  
_  
_  
__ _ _ **Maps** _____  
____it wont last tho _  
_  
_  
  


**J**

😰

A smile tugs at Damian’s lips as he responds.

**Sent**

_Ah. Yes, you’re right, I’m afraid I won’t live for much longer_

**J**

_???!!!!!!!!!!????_

**Maps**

_lmao Maya is going to absolutely destroy you_

**J**

_OH_ 😅 _y’all had me worried for a second there_

_Yeah Maya is gonna kill you_

**Sent**

_I embrace the end_

_How is the Riddler situation affecting you, Maps? I don’t believe it’s near your location._

**Maps**

_one day youll stop texting like an old man_

_its fine, its nowhere near me i got to see some nice question mark fireworks though so that was cool_

**Sent**

_Hm. I haven’t seen any yet - my window must be facing the wrong way_

**Maps**

_im kinda disappointed tbh_

_oh to be kidnapped by the Riddler only to be saved by the bats and their fancy gadgets_

**Sent**

_Maps, you’re a part-time vigilante. You’ve fought with my family_

**Maps**

_yes but its the principle of it_

_plus you gotta admit getting kidnapped is kinda fun_

**Sent**

_On occasion it can be...mildly entertaining_

**J**

_Y’all are so weird_

**Sent**

_Correction :_

**Maps**

_we’re Gothamites._

**J**

_proving my point here, guys_

Damian is about to send a snide comment about Metropolitans, but is interrupted by a text notification from Cullen, which takes priority. He leaves the Titans chat and opens up the new text.

**Received**

_YOU’RE ALIVE!!!! AND AWAKE!!! AND ALIVE!!!_

Damian rolls his eyes, though he's smiling.

**Sent**

_Bold of you to assume I can die_

**Received**

_Good point. Still. YOU’RE ALIVE_

_We were so worried!!!!! You were out with a fever for almost three days!!_

Damian winces - that long, huh? They’re all going to be more insufferable than usual in their clingy, overly affectionate way.

**Sent**

_Apologies. Next time I’ll try not to develop an infection._

**Received**

_Only you would say that Dami_

**Sent**

_How is everyone faring?_

**Received**

_They’re doing alright. The goons just keep coming, but they’re low level thugs_

That’s good to hear. Damian nods to himself and glances out the closed window at the city, lit up in it’s night colors. In the distance there’s a flash of green - it seems his window is facing the Riddler’s location after all.

**Received**

_They’re gonna FREAK when I tell them you’re awake tho_

**Sent**

_Don’t you dare. They need to focus._

**Received**

_Uhh...too late…?_

Damian groans and lightly thunks his head against the wall. If this compromises their ability to focus and therefore fight…

**Received**

😁❤️

_ *audio file attached* _

Oh, great. Damian rolls his eyes and opens the file. He immediately turns the volume way down as the sudden onslaught of voices nearly blows out the speaker. Four (entirely too loud) voices clamor over one another in a jumble of unintelligible words. He thinks he hears his name, and someone might be cheering. They’re definitely pestering Cullen for details. Warmth spreads in Damian’s chest despite his annoyance that Cullen is distracting them. He grins to the empty room as he listens to his siblings, and when the file ends he saves it to his phone (for no reason).

**Sent**

_Tell them if they don’t get their heads in the game and stay on task I will personally go out there and kick their asses, injury be damned _ _ _ _._____

**Received**

_Lmao message relayed_

_*audio file attached*_

Damian opens the file.

_____“____ -injury be damned, _ _ _ _”_____ Cullen is saying.

_____“____ He’s fine, _ _ _ _”_____ Harper says in a deadpan. She grunts along with the sound of padded knuckles hitting flesh.

_“I don’t even know why we were worried _ _ _ _,"_____ Jason huffs.

_____“____ Classic _ _ _ _,”_____ Duke sighs.

_____“____ Honestly it’d be amazing to see him try and fight us while high on morphine _ _ _ _,"_____ Stephanie says. She swears under her breath as the sound of her taking down a thug filters through the comm.

Damian frowns at the screen. He’s not high on morphine. Anymore.

_____“____ He’s so gonna lecture us, isn’t he? _ _ _ _”_____ Jason groans.

_____“____ Yes _ _ _ _,"_____ Cassandra says brightly.

The file ends there, and Damian saves that one, too.

**Sent**

_I shall leave you be for now - you have important work to be doing_

_And I believe I have to review Maps’ latest attempt at building a lightsaber_

_Keep them out of too much danger_

It’s not a lie. The text notifications have given Damian a glimpse at the current conversation between his friends, and apparently Maps’ invention lasted all of ten seconds before exploding - a new record.

**Received**

_Thanks Dami. We’re excited to see you up and insulting us again_

Damian smiles and switches back to the Titans chat. He’s eager to see them as well.

**⤘⤘⤘ -**

A little after 12 Cullen sends another text. It interrupts Damian texting Maps to be safe, as she's finished her homework and is about to suit up and help the bats fight.

**Received**

_Cass, Duke, and Jason are on their way to take a short break and patch up_

_E.T.A four minutes_

Although he’s glad to hear he’ll see his siblings sooner than later, the ‘patch up’ comment makes Damian frown. It could be nothing, just a few scrapes and cuts to patch up, but still. It could be something worse. Another text pops up.

**Received**

_MINOR WOUNDS_

_sorry they’re not seriously hurt or anything sorry i completely forgot to add that_

Damian exhales through his nose and rolls his eyes. Somewhat sarcastically he replies:

**Sent**

_Thank you for the heads up, Cullen._

And for letting him be mildly concerned for a few minutes.

**Received**

😄 _They’ll all be cycling in and out of you room throughout the night Both to say hi and rest_

Right as Damian is about to thank him again the window slides open. Instantly the sounds of Gotham at night and the distant _boom_ of Riddler’s theatrics filter into the room, along with a cool breeze. Cassandra slips through the window, silent as a shadow and twice as deadly.

Her face tilts in Damian’s direction and she pulls her mask off to reveal a blinding grin and sparkling eyes. Damian finds himself smiling back. She hops over to him and throws her arms around his shoulders - ever mindful of his injury - with a happy chirp of, “Dami!”

“Cassandra,” he replies, hugging her back as best he can. Behind her, Duke vaults through the window. His landing makes a bit more noise, but no one is as quiet as Cassandra. He takes off his helmet, already smiling at Damian and Cassandra (who still hasn’t let go).

“He lives,” Duke jokes as he puts his helmet on the visitor table. There’s a thump at the window and he rolls his eyes, reaches outside, and pulls a ruffled looking Wren into the room. Jason lands on the floor in a heap before springing to his feet like he didn’t just perform the most undignified entrance in existence.

Duke gently tugs Cassandra’s cape and says, “Hey, my turn to hug the idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Damian scoffs as Cassandra relinquishes her grip. As soon as she steps back Duke wraps his arms around Damian and squeezes just a touch too hard. Damian barely holds back a pathetic squeak and pats Duke’s armored back as his bones are rearranged.

“Careful,” Cassandra says. “Still hurt.” 

"He deserves it,” Duke replies, letting go. Damian does not gasp for air. He does scowl as Duke ruffles his hair and bats his hand away with a scoff of disgust. “You scared the _shit_ out of us.”

“Yeah, you did,” Jason chimes in. He squeezes past Duke and Cassandra to punch Damian’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Damian snaps. He rubs the spot Jason punched - it almost hurt a little. “Your bedside manners are atrocious.”

“ _You’re_ atrocious,” Jason says maturely.

“At least I don’t punch like an inebriated third grader.”

Duke rolls his eyes and breaks from the group to rifle through a cabinet. “That was a weak insult, even for you, dude.”

“It’s not his fault his ability to think is impaired - oh, wait, yes it is.” Jason punches Damian’s shoulder again.

“What the hell is your problem?” Damian yelps.

“You nearly got yourself killed, that’s my problem!”

Cassandra’s smile slides into a scowl as she nods. “Reckless. You should know better.”

“You really should,” Duke says. He hands Jason and Cassandra water bottles. Cassandra opens Jason’s for him. “I thought we were past the whole ‘hiding injuries’ thing, Damian.”

“I am,” Damian says. “When it’s avoidable.”

“It’s always avoidable. You could have easily told your teammates that you’ve been hit and need a second to do a temporary patch, or that they need to step up and take your place.”

“Trust,” Cassandra adds, “it goes both ways.”

Damian drops his gaze. His line of thinking may have been impeded by his wound at the time. “I’m...sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.” 

"Damn right you weren’t.” Jason sniffs and pointedly glares at the ground with suspiciously shiny eyes. “I thought you were gonna die.”

“Almost did,” Cassandra murmurs.

Duke sits on the edge of the bed and fixes Damian with a pleading look. “Promise me you won’t pull shit like this again. When Cullen called and said that you were hit bad, I thought...and then when you developed a fever, we were pretty sure we were gonna lose you.”

Cassandra sits next to Damian to curl up as best she can under his arm. She hooks one arm around him as she whispers, “Can’t lose anyone else. Can’t lose _you_.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” Damian says, his voice hoarse with withheld emotion. It was beyond horrible of him to pull a stunt like this so soon after...well. It’s best not to think about him right now. Not to mention making them watch their brother slowly die from a fever. Damian presses his cheek to his sister’s hair. “I never meant to hurt you all.”

Jason crosses his arms and sniffs again. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I’ll...try not to.”

Duke snorts. “That’s as good as it’s gonna get, isn’t it?”

“I can’t promise I’ll never get hurt again, but I won’t hide injuries.”

Cass sighs and pokes his cheek. “Good enough.”

“We’re still gonna give you shit for it,” Jason says with forced cheerfulness. “I’m holding this over your head for the next year.”

Damian rolls his eyes. “I don’t expect anything less.”

“We can start the Damian Wayne Guilt Trip Train after we throw Nygma’s ass back in Arkham,” Duke says. He stands up and gives them a pointed look.

Cassandra sticks her tongue out at him, but she gets up as well. She plants a kiss on Damian’s forehead, which he pretends to be disgusted by. The three active vigilantes go over to the cabinets, where they take out some basic first aid supplies. They quietly start cleaning and patching some minor wounds - a cut here, a scrape there, small things. Damian scans them as they work.

Duke seems to be favoring his right leg, but it’s been that way since he broke it a few years back. The bone always starts to protest after being out in the field for a long period of time without rest. Damian hopes he’s wearing his knee brace.

Cassandra has a large cut on her shoulder that Jason is helping stitch up, but it’s barely bleeding. Other than that there aren’t any obvious injuries.

Jason, however, is barely using his right hand as he stitches Cassandra’s cut. Even as he ties off the thread he’s barely twisting his wrist.

“Jason,” Damian calls.

“Hm?”

“Wrist braces are in the leftmost cabinet, bottom shelf.”

Jason freezes and his ears turn red as two more accusing pairs of eyes land on him. He shuffles over to the cabinet with a mutter of, “Thanks, Dami.”

“You’re such a dad,” Duke says, grinning.

Damian scowls at him. “I am not.”

“You are,” Cassandra says.

“I was merely calling out a hypocrite.” So what if Damian regularly calls his siblings to make sure they’re taking care of themselves and makes them take breaks when they’re pushing too hard? It’s his job as the eldest.

Duke elbows Cassandra and stage-whispers, “What if he gets a kid one day? He’d be dad times ten.”

“I’m not going to have children,” Damian protests. It’s a fact of his life.

“Adopt,” Cassandra says.

Damian’s scowl deepens. “I am not my father.”

“No. Just gay.”

Damian scoffs and throws his arms up as Jason yelps, “You’re _what_?”

Three heads swivel to stare at him. Did he...not know? How could he not know? It’s not like Damian is secretive about it - he wears denim jackets with pins on them. He goes to pride every year. He makes the occasional joke. 

"Gay,” Damian deadpans. “I’m fairly certain you know what that is.”

“Y-yeah, I do, I just didn’t, y’know…” Jason tightens the straps of the wrist brace he’s putting on, radiating discomfort. “You don’t really…”

“Act like a stereotypical gay man?” 

"N-no, wait -”

Duke frowns at Jason as Cassandra solemnly shakes her head. “Jay, I thought you were better than this. Check your stereotyping, man, totally uncool.”

“I’m not -” Jason is completely flustered. It’s adorable. “I didn’t mean…”

They hold character for five more seconds before the three of them start snickering. Cassandra and Duke fist-pump as Damian hides his grin behind his hand.

Jason’s eyes widen before he groans in realization. “Oh, for the love of... _odio esta maldita familia_.”

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with us,” Duke laughs.

Jason freezes and his embarrassed blush deepens.

“Yes, we understood that,” Damian says.

Cassandra tilts her head. “I did not.”

“He said he hates this fucking family.”

She whips her head around to glare at Jason, who shrinks under her gaze. She points at him and says, “Mean.”

“Jay is _not_ scoring sibling points today,” Duke mutters, humor still in his tone.

Jason throws up his arms. “I’m _sorry_ , okay? Do you want it in Spanish, too? _Lo siento_. There. Happy?”

“Moderately,” Damian says. Honestly he’s just glad the conversation has steered away from him being called a ‘dad’, which he isn’t, and never will be. Ever.

Cassandra pats Jason on the head. “Better. Thank you.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Jason starts pulling his gloves back on. “Let's just get back out there - B needs us.”

Duke nods. “Ready?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Cassandra throws up a peace sign.

“Be careful,” Damian says as they start pulling on pieces of uniform discarded to patch wounds. “No unnecessary risks, stay focused -”

“Rich comin’ from you,” Jason grumbles.

“We know, dad,” Duke says. That’s not going away anytime soon. “Chill, we’ll be fine.”

“It’s just Riddler,” Jason says.

Damian fixes him with a firm glare. “Don’t treat him so flippantly. For all of his absurdity he’s still a dangerous rogue with a kill streak. Never underestimate your opponent."

Jason has the grace to look sheepish. “Right. My bad.”

“Just...don’t get killed.”

Cassandra pulls on her cowl and gives him another hug. She whispers “See you soon,” and slips back outside.

“We’ll have Cullen keep you updated,” Duke says. He pauses halfway through the window to smile at him. “It’s good to have you back, Dami.”

Damian nods to him as he goes all the way through the window.

Jason hesitates by the bed. Right as Damian opens his mouth to ask if something is wrong, he gets an armful of vigilante - Jason is hugging him almost as tight as Duke did.

“I’m glad you’re not dead, you fucking bastard,” Jason whispers quickly, and just like that he’s vaulting out the window. Damian shakes his head fondly at the empty space his brother occupied seconds before.

The next round of angry siblings will be here soon, and after that...he scowls. He isn’t looking forward to the inevitable fight with Father, but hopefully it won’t be too bad.

For now he’ll wait for texts from Cullen on his family’s well being, but Damian has a feeling he has nothing to worry about.

They’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damian : I'll never be a dad ever
> 
> Damian, five years later : this is my so - ward, Richard. If anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself
> 
> Any questions about this au can be answered @ [Batshit-Birds](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/batshit-birds) on Tumblr


End file.
